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BALLADS  OF  BLUE  WATER 
AND   OTHER   POEMS 


BY 


JAMES   JEFFREY   ROCHE 


BOSTON   AND    NEW   YORK 

HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND   COMPANY 

@bz  fttoers'ibe  pm$,  Cambribne 

1895 


Copyright,  1895, 
By  JAMES   JEFFREY  ROCHE. 

All  rights  reserved. 


The  Rivtrsidt  Pr,-as%  Catnbridgty  Mats.,  U.  S.   I. 

Electrotypcd  and  Printed  by  H.  O.  Houghton  &  Co. 


DEDICA  TION 

TO  MY  CANOE,  "  WANDA  " 

Of  distant  deeds  si?ig  I  who  ne'er 
Did  anything,  went  anywhere; 

Of  storm  and  battle  on  the  blue  — 
Whose  total  fleet  is  one  canoe. 

I  might,  had  Fortune  so  inclined, 
Have  fought,  and  left  my  shield  behind 7 

Let  him  who  takes  his  armor  off 
Boast  if  he  willj  and  should  he  scoff 

At  us  who  never  put  it  on, 

Still  may  we  praise  the  heroes  gone, 

And  rest  content  that  we  have  known 
Some  joys  that  go  with  peace  alone. 

The  bark  that  carried  Ccesar'sfate 
Bore  never  such  a  precious  freight 

As  thou  didst  bear,  one  day,  when  She 
Sang,  not  of  war,  for  thee  and  me. 


M19IS99 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Dedication  :  To  my  Canoe,  "  Wanda  " iii 

The  Fight  of  the  "Armstrong"  Privateer    .    .  i 

The  Kearsarge 8 

"Albemarle"  Cushing 10 

At  Sea 15 

The  Constitution's  Last  Fight 17 

Reuben  James 21 

A  Business  Transaction 24 

Summer  is  Past 28 

Jack  Creamer 30 

The  Flag 23 

Sir  Hugo's  Choice 36 

Gettysburg 39 

The  Men  of  the  Alamo 42 

John  Boyle  O'Reilly 47 

The  Last  of  the  Druids 49 

Washington 52 

The  Lay  Brother's  Story 54 

Whittier 57 

Woburn 58 

Nature  the  False  Goddess 61 

Recantation 63 

A  Sailor's  Yarn 64 

Hope 68 


The  author  acknowledges  his  thanks  to  The  Century  Company, 
"  The  Atlantic  Monthly,"  Messrs.  Charles  Scribner's  Sons,  and 
Messrs.  Harper  and  Brothers  for  permission  to  republish  several 
poems  in  this  collection. 


BALLADS  OF  BLUE  WATER 
AND    OTHER   POEMS 


THE  FIGHT   OF   THE   "ARMSTRONG" 
PRIVATEER 

Tell  the  story  to  your  sons 

Of  the  gallant  days  of  yore, 
When  the  brig  of  seven  guns 
Fought  the  fleet  of  seven  score, 
From  the  set  of  sun  till  morn,  through  the  long 

September  night  — 
Ninety  men  against  two  thousand,  and  the  ninety 
won  the  fight 

In  the  harbor  of  Fayal  the  Azore. 

Three  lofty  British  ships  came  a-sailing  to  Fayal : 
One  was  a  line-of-battle  ship,  and  two  were  frigates 

tall; 
Nelson's  valiant  men  of  war,  brave  as  Britons  ever 

are, 
Manned  the  guns  they  served  so  well  at  Aboukir 

and  Trafalgar. 


2  I ICIIT  OF  THE   "ARMSTRONG" 

Lord  Dundonald  and  his  fleet  at  Jamaica  far 
away 

Waited  eager  for  their  coming,  fretted  sore  at  their 
delay. 

There  was  loot  for  British  valor  on  the  Mississippi 
coast 

In  the  beauty  and  the  booty  that  the  Creole  cities 
boast ; 

Jhere  were  rebel  knaves  to  swing,  there  were  pris- 
oners to  bring 

Home  in  fetters  to  old  England  for  the  glory  of  the 
King ! 

At  the  setting  of  the  sun  and  the  ebbing  of  the 

tide 
Came  the  great  ships  one  by  one,  with  their  portals 

opened  wide, 
And  their  cannon  frowning  down  on  the  castle  and 

the  town 
And  the  privateer  that  lay  close  inside ; 
Came  the  eighteen  gun  Carnation,  and  the  Rota, 

forty-four, 
And   the   triple-decked    Plantagenet    an   admiral's 

pennon  bore  ; 
And   the   privateer  grew  smaller  as  their  topmasts 

towered  taller. 
And  she  bent   her  springs    and   anchored   by   the 

castle  on  the  shore. 


THE  FIGHT  OF  THE   "ARMSTRONG"         3 

Spake    the    noble    Portuguese    to    the    stranger : 

"  Have  no  fear  ; 
They  are   neutral  waters   these,  and  your  ship  is 

sacred  here 
As  if  fifty  stout  armadas  stood  to  shelter  you  from 

harm, 
For  the  honor  of  the  Briton  will  defend  you  from 

his  arm." 
But  the  privateersman  said,  "  Well  we  know  the 

Englishmen, 
And   their  faith  is  written   red  in  the  Dartmoor 

slaughter  pen. 
Come  what  fortune  God  may  send,  we  will  fight 

them  to  the  end, 
And  the  mercy  of  the  sharks  may  spare  us  then." 

"  Seize  the  pirate  where  she  lies  !  "  cried  the  Eng- 
lish admiral : 

"  If  the  Portuguese  protect  her,  all  the  worse  for 
Portugal !  " 

And  four  launches  at  his  bidding  leaped  impa- 
tient for  the  fray, 

Speeding  shoreward  where  the  Armstrong,  grim 
and  dark  and  ready,  lay. 

Twice  she  hailed  and  gave  them  warning ;  but  the 
feeble  menace  scorning, 

On  they  came  in  splendid  silence,  till  a  cable's 
length  away  — 


4         THE   FIGHT  OF   THE   "ARMSTRONG" 

Then    the   Yankee    pivot   spoke ;  Pico's    thousand 

echoes  woke ; 
And  four  baffled,  beaten  launches  drifted  helpless 

on  the  bay. 

Then  the  wrath  of  Lloyd  arose  till  the  lion  roared 

again, 
And  he  called  out  all  his  launches  and  he  called 

five  hundred  men  j 
And  he  gave  the  word  "  No  quarter  !  "  and  he  sent 

them  forth  to  smite. 
Heaven  help  the  foe  before  him  when  the  Briton 

comes  in  might ! 
Heaven  helped  the  little  Armstrong  in  her  hour  of 

bitter  need ; 
God  Almighty  nerved  the  heart  and  guided  well 

the  arm  of  Reid. 

Launches  to  port  and  starboard,  launches  forward 

and  aft, 
Fourteen  launches  together  striking  the  little  craft. 
They    hacked    at    the     boarding  -  nettings,    they 

swarmed  above  the  rail  ; 
But  the  Long  Tom  roared  from  his  pivot  and  the 

grape-shot  fell  like  hail : 
Pike  and  pistol  and  cutlass,  and  hearts  that  knew 

not  fear, 


THE  FIGHT  OF   THE    "ARMSTRONG"         5 

Bulwarks  of  brawn  and  mettle,  guarded  the  priva- 
teer. 
And  ever  where  fight  was  fiercest,  the  form  of  Reid 

was  seen ; 
Ever  where  foes  drew  nearest,  his  quick  sword  fell 
between. 
Once  in  the  deadly  strife 
The  boarders'  leader  pressed 
Forward  of  all  the  rest 
Challenging  life  for  life  ; 
But  ere  their  blades  had  crossed, 
A  dying  sailor  tossed 
His  pistol  to  Reid,  and  cried, 
"  Now  riddle  the  lubber's  hide  !  " 
But   the   privateersman    laughed,    and    flung  the 

weapon  aside, 
And  he  drove  his  blade  to  the  hilt,  and  the  foeman 

gasped  and  died. 
Then  the  boarders  took   to  their   launches   laden 

with  hurt  and  dead, 
But  little  with  glory  burdened,  and  out  of  the  bat- 
tle fled. 

Now  the  tide  was  at  flood  again,  and  the  night  was 

almost  done, 
When  the  sloop-of-war  came  up  with  her  odds  of 

two  to  one, 


6  THE   FIGHT  OF   THE   "ARMSTRONG" 

And  she  opened  fire  ;  but  the  Armstrong  answered 

her,  gun  for  gun, 
And  the  gay  Carnation  wilted  in  half  an  hour  of  sun. 

Then   the    Armstrong,   looking   seaward,   saw  the 

mighty  seventy-four, 
With  her  triple  tier  of  cannon,  drawing  slowly  to 

the  shore. 
And    the    dauntless    captain    said :    "  Take     our 

wounded  and  our  dead, 
Bear  them  tenderly  to  land,  for   the  Armstrong's 

days  are  o'er  ; 
But  no  foe  shall  tread  her  deck,  and  no  flag  above 

it  wave  — 
To  the  ship  that  saved  our  honor  we  will  give  a 

shipman's  grave." 
So  they  did  as  he  commanded,  and  they  bore  their 

mates  to  land 
With  the  figurehead  of   Armstrong   and  the  good 

sword  in  his  hand. 
Then  they  turned  the  Long  Tom  downward,  and 

they  pierced  her  oaken  side, 
And  they  cheered  her,  and  they  blessed  her,  and 

they  sunk  her  in  the  tide. 

Tell  the  story  to  your  sons, 

When  the  haughty  stranger  boasts 


THE  FIGHT  OF  THE  "  ARMSTRONG"         J 

Of  his  mighty  ships  and  guns 
And  the  muster  of  his  hosts, 
How  the  word  of  God  was  witnessed  in  the  gallant 

days  of  yore 
When  the  twenty  fled  from  one  ere  the  rising  of 
the  sun, 

In  the  harbor  of  Fayal  the  Azore  ! 


THE   KEARSARGE 

In  the  gloomy  ocean  bed 

Dwelt  a  formless  thing,  and  said, 
In  the  dim  and  countless  eons  long  ago, 

"  I  will  build  a  stronghold  high, 

Ocean's  power  to  defy, 
And  the  pride  of  haughty  man  to  lay  low." 

Crept  the  minutes  for  the  sad, 

Sped  the  cycles  for  the  glad, 
But  the  march  of  time  was  neither  less  nor  more  j 

While  the  formless  atom  died, 

Myriad  millions  by  its  side, 
And  above  them  slowly  lifted  Roncador. 

Roncador  of  Caribee, 

Coral  dragon  of  the  sea, 
Ever  sleeping  with  his  teeth  below  the  wave  ; 

Woe  to  him  who  breaks  the  sleep  ! 

Woe  to  them  who  sail  the  deep  ! 
Woe  to  ship  and  man  that  fear  a  shipman's  grave 
8 


THE   KEARSARGE  9 

Hither  many  a  galleon  old, 

Heavy-keeled  with  guilty  gold, 
Fled  before  the  hardy  rover  smiting  sore  ; 

But  the  sleeper  silent  lay 

Till  the  preyer  and  his  prey 
Brought  their  plunder  and  their  bones  to  Roncador. 

Be  content,  O  conqueror  ! 

Now  our  bravest  ship  of  war, 
War  and  tempest  who  had  often  braved  before, 

All  her  storied  prowess  past, 

Strikes  her  glorious  flag  at  last 
To  the  formless  thing  that  builded  Roncador. 


"ALBEMARLE"  CUSHING 

Joy  in  rebel  Plymouth  town,  in  the  spring  of  sixty- 
four, 
When  the  Albemarle  down  on  the  Yankee  frig- 
ates bore, 
With  the  saucy  Stars  and  Bars  at  her  main  ; 

When   she  smote  the  Southfield  dead,  and  the 
stout  Miami  quailed, 
And  the  fleet  in  terror  fled  when  their  mighty  can- 
non hailed 
Shot  and  shell  on  her  iron  back  in  vain, 
Till  she  slowly  steamed  away  to  her  berth  at  Ply- 
mouth pier, 
And  their  quick  eyes  saw  her  sway  with  her  great 
beak  out  of  gear, 
And  the  color  of  their  courage  rose  again. 

All  the  summer  lay  the  ram, 

Like  a  wounded  beast  at  bay. 
While  the  watchful  squadron  swam 

In  the  harbor  night  and  day, 
10 


"ALBEMARLE"  CUSHING  II 

Till  the  broken  beak  was  mended,  and  the  weary 
vigil  ended, 
And  her  time  was  come  again  to  smite  and  slay. 

Must  they  die,  and  die  in  vain, 

Like  a  flock  of  shambled  sheep  ? 
Then  the  Yankee  grit  and  brain 
Must  be  dead  or  gone  to  sleep, 
And  our  sailors'  gallant  story  of  a  hundred  years 
of  glory 
Let  us  sell  for  a  song,  selling  cheap  ! 

Cushing,  scarce  a  man  in  years, 
But  a  sailor  thoroughbred, 
"  With  a  dozen  volunteers 

I  will  sink  the  ram,"  he  said. 
"  At  the  worst  'tis  only  dying."     And  the  old  com- 
mander, sighing, 
"  'T  is  to  save  the  fleet  and  flag  —  go  ahead  !  " 

Bright  the  rebel  beacons  blazed 

On  the  river  left  and  right ; 
Wide  awake  their  sentries  gazed 
Through  the  watches  of  the  night ; 
Sharp  their   challenge   rang,  and   fiery   came   the 
rifle's  quick  inquiry, 
As  the  little  launch  swung  into  the  light. 


12  "  ALBEMARLE"  CUSHING 

Listening  ears  afar  had  heard  ; 

Ready  hands  to  quarters  sprung, 
The  Albemarle  awoke  and  stirred, 
And  her  howitzers  gave  tongue  ; 
Till  the  river  and  the  shore  echoed  back  the  mighty 
roar, 
When  the  portals  of  her  hundred-pounders  swung. 

Will  the  swordfish  brave  the  whale, 

Doubly  girt  with  boom  and  chain  ? 
Face  the  shrapnel's  iron  hail  ? 
Dare  the  livid  leaden  rain  ? 
Ah  !  that  shell  has  done  its  duty  ;  it  has  spoiled 
the  Yankee's  beauty ; 
See    her    turn    and   fly  with    half   her   madmen 
slain ! 

High  the  victors'  taunting  yell 
Rings  above  the  battle  roar. 
And  they  bid  her  mock  farewell 
As  she  seeks  the  farther  shore, 
Till  they  see  her  sudden  swinging,  crouching  for 
the  leap  and  springing 
Back  to  boom  and  chain  and  bloody  fray  once 
more. 


"ALBEMARLE"  CUSHING  1 3 

Now  the  Southron  captain,  stirred 

By  the  spirit  of  his  race, 
Stops  the  firing  with  a  word, 

Bids  them  yield,  and  offers  grace. 
dishing,  laughing,  answers,  "  No  !  we  are  here  to 
fight ! "  and  so 
Swings  the  dread  torpedo  spar  to  its  place. 

Then  the  great  ship  shook  and  reeled, 

With  a  wounded,  gaping  side, 
But  her  steady  cannon  pealed 
Ere  she  settled  in  the  tide, 
And   the    Roanoke's  dull  flood  ran  full  red  with 
Yankee  blood, 
When  the  fighting  Albemarle  sunk  and  died. 

Woe  in  rebel  Plymouth  town  when  the  Albemarle 
fell, 

And  the  saucy  flag  went  down  that  had  floated 
long  and  well, 
Nevermore  from  her  stricken  deck  to  wave. 

For  the  fallen  flag  a  sigh,  for  the  fallen  foe  a 
tear ! 
Never  shall  their  glory  die  while  we  hold  our  glory 
dear, 
And  the  hero's  laurels  live  on  his  grave. 


14  "ALBEMARLE"  CUSHJNG 

Link  their  Cooke's  with  Cushing's  name  ;  proudly 

call  them  both  our  own  ; 
Claim    their    valor    and    their   fame    for    America 
alone  — 
Joyful  mother  of  the  bravest  of  the  brave ! 


AT  SEA 

Shall  we,  the  storm-tossed  sailors,  weep 
For  those  who  may  not  sail  again  \ 

Or  wisely  envy  them,  and  keep 
Our  pity  for  the  living  men  ? 

Beyond  the  weary  waste  of  sea, 
Beyond  the  wider  waste  of  death, 

I  strain  my  gaze  and  cry  to  thee 
Whose  still  heart  never  answereth. 

0  brother,  is  thy  coral  bed 

So  sweet  thou  wilt  not  hear  my  speech  ? 
This  hand,  methinks,  if  I  were  dead, 
To  thy  dear  hand  would  strive  to  reach. 

1  would  not,  if  God  gave  us  choice 
For  each  to  bear  the  other's  part, 

That  mine  should  be  the  silent  voice, 
And  thine  the  silent,  aching  heart. 
IS 


l6  AT  SEA 

Ah,  well  for  any  voyage  done, 

Whate'er  its  end  — or  port  or  reef  j 

Better  the  voyage  ne'er  begun, 
For  all  ships  sail  the  sea  of  Grief. 


THE   CONSTITUTION'S   LAST   FIGHT 

A  Yankee  ship  and  a  Yankee  crew  — 
Constitution,  where  ye  bound  for  ? 

Wherever,  my  lad,  there  's  fight  to  be  had, 
Acrost  the  Western  Ocean. 

Our  captain  was  married  in  Boston  town 

And  sailed  next  day  to  sea ; 
For  all  must  go  when  the  State  says  so ; 

Blow  high,  blow  low,  sailed  we. 

"  Now  what  shall  I  bring  for  a  bridal  gift 
When  my  home-bound  pennant  flies  ? 
The  rarest  that  be  on  land  or  sea 
It  shall  be  my  lady's  prize." 

"  There  's  never  a  prize  on  sea  or  land 
Could  bring  such  joy  to  me 
As  my  true  love  sound  and  homeward  bound 
With  a  king's  ship  under  his  lee." 

The  Western  ocean  is  wide  and  deep, 
And  wild  its  tempests  blow, 


I  8        THE   CONSTITUTION'S  LAST  FIGHT 

But  bravely  rides  Old  Ironsides, 
A-cruising  to  and  fro. 

We   cruised   to  the    East  and    we  cruised    to  the 
North, 

And  Southing  far  went  we, 
And  at  last  off  Cape  de  Verde  we  raised 

Two  frigates  sailing  free. 

Oh,  God  made  man,  and  man  made  ships, 

But  God  makes  very  few 
Like  him  who  sailed  our  ship  that  day 

And  fought  her,  one  to  two. 

He  gained  the  weather-gage  of  both, 

He  held  them  both  a-lee  ; 
And  gun  for  gun  till  set  of  sun, 

He  spoke  them  fair  and  free ; 

Till  the  night-fog  fell  on  spar  and  sail 

And  ship  and  sea  and  shore, 
And  our  only  aim  was  the  bursting  flame 

And  the  hidden  cannon's  roar. 

Then  a  lifting  rift  in  the  mist  showed  up 
The  stout  Cyane  close-hauled 


THE   CONSTITUTION'S  LAST  FIGHT       1 9 

To  swing  in  our  wake  and  our  quarter  rake, 
And  a  boasting  Briton  bawled  : 

"  Starboard  and  larboard  we  Ve  got  him  fast 
Where  his  heels  won't  carry  him  through  : 
Let  him  luff  or  wear,  he  '11  find  us  there  — 
Ho,  Yankee,  which  will  you  do  ?  " 

We  did  not  luff  and  we  did  not  wear, 

But  braced  our  topsails  back, 
Till  the  sternway  drew  us  fair  and  true 

Broadsides  athwart  her  track. 

Athwart  her  track  and  across  her  bows 

We  raked  her  fore  and  aft, 
And  out  of  the  fight  and  into  the  night 

Drifted  the  beaten  craft. 

The  slow  Levant  came  up  too  late ; 

No  need  had  we  to  stir. 
Her  decks  we  swept  with  fire  and  kept 

The  flies  from  troubling  her. 

We  raked  her  again,  and  her  flag  came  down, 

The  haughtiest  flag  that  floats, 
And  the  Limejuice  dogs  lay  there  like  logs, 

With  never  a  bark  'in  their  throats. 


20        THE  CONSTITUTIONS  LAST  TIGHT 

With  never  a  bark  and  never  a  bite, 

But  only  an  oath,  to  break, 
As  we  squared  away  for  Praya  Bay 

With  our  prizes  in  our  wake. 

Parole  they  gave  and  parole  they  broke, 
What  matters  the  cowardly  cheat, 

If  the  captain's  bride  was  satisfied 
With  the  one  prize  laid  at  her  feet  ? 

A  Yankee  ship  and  a  3  'ankee  crew  — 
Constitution,  where  ye  bound  for  f 

Wherever  the  British  prizes  be% 

Though  it  *s  one  to  two,  or  one  to  three 

Old  Ironsides  weans  Victory, 
Acrost  the  Western  Ocean  ! 


REUBEN   JAMES 

Three  ships  of  war  had  Preble  when  he  left  the 

Naples  shore, 
And  the  knightly  king  of  Naples  lent  him  seven 

galleys  more, 
And   never  since  the  Argo  floated  in  the  middle 

sea 
Such  noble  men  and  valiant  have  sailed  in  company 
As  the  men  who  went  with  Preble  to  the  siege  of 

Tripoli. 
Stewart,    Bainbridge,   Hull,    Decatur  —  how    their 

names  ring  out  like  gold  !  — 
Lawrence,    Porter,    Trippe,    Macdonough,    and    a 

score  as  true  and  bold  ; 
Every  star  that  lights  their  banner  tells  the  glory 

that  they  won ; 
But  one  common  sailor's  glory  is  the  splendor  of 

the  sun. 

Reuben  James  was  first   to  follow  when   Decatur 

laid  aboard 
Of  the  lofty  Turkish  galley  and  in  battle  broke  his 

sword. 


22  REUBEN  JAMES 

Then  the  pirate  captain  smote  him,  till  his  blood 

was  running  fast, 
And  they  grappled   and   they  struggled,  and  they 

fell  beside  the  mast. 
Close  behind    him  Reuben  battled  with  a  dozen, 

undismayed, 
Till  a  bullet  broke  his  sword-arm,  and  he  dropped 

the  useless  blade. 
Then  a  swinging  Turkish  sabre  clove  his  left  and 

brought  him  low, 
Like  a  gallant  bark,  dismasted,  at  the  mercy  of  the 

foe. 
Little  mercy  knows  the  corsair  :  high  his  blade  was 

raised  to  slay, 
When  a  richer  prize  allured   him  where    Decatur 

struggling  lay. 
"  Help  ! "   the    Turkish    leader   shouted,    and    his 

trusty  comrade  sprung, 
And  his  scimetar  like  lightning  o'er  the    Yankee 

captain  swung. 

Reuben  James,  disabled,  armless,  saw   the   sabre 

Hashed  on  high, 
Saw  Decatur  shrink    before  it,  heard  the  pirate's 

taunting  cry, 
Saw,  in  half  the  time  I   tell   it,  how  a  sailor  brave 

and  true 


REUBEN  JAMES  23 

Still  might  show  a  bloody  pirate  what  a  dying  man 

can  do. 
Quick  he  struggled,  stumbling,  sliding  in  the  blood 

around  his  feet, 
As  the  Turk  a  moment  waited  to  make  vengeance 

doubly  sweet. 
Swift   the  sabre  fell,  but  swifter  bent  the  sailor's 

head  below, 
And   upon  his  'fenceless  forehead  Reuben  James 

received  the  blow ! 

So  was  saved  our  brave  Decatur ;  so  the  common 

sailor  died ; 
So  the  love  that  moves  the  lowly  lifts  trie  great  to 

fame  and  pride. 
Yet  we  grudge  him  not  his  honors,  for  whom  love 

like  this  had  birth  — 
For  God  never  ranks  His  sailors  by  the  Register 

of  earth ! 


A   BUSINESS   TRANSACTION 

"  IN    THE    DAYS    OF    VAN    TROM1*  " 

To  Amsterdam  and  its  Commodore, 

Over  his  pipe  and  his  eau-de-vie, 
A  flibote  skimming  the  Texel  shore 

Brought  serious  news  for  the  Zuyder  Zee  : 

Forty  sail  of  the  Channel  Fleet, 

With  a  high-born  Admiral  of  the  Blue, 

Holland's  bravest  had  come  to  greet 
And  settle  an  ancient  score  or  two. 

Frugal  of  speech  was  the  Commodore. 

"  I  will  meet  their  wishes,"  he  briefly  said, 
And  straight  to  the  offing  his  squadron  bore, 

With  a  broom  at  the  flagship's  mainmast-head. 

Quickly  to  work,  in  a  business  way, 

Went  old  Van  Dam  and  his  captains  stout. 

Broadside  for  broadside,  half  the  day. 
But  the  sturdy  enemy  still  held  out  ; 
M 


A   BUSINESS   TRANSACTION  2$ 

Till  about  four  bells  in  the  afternoon 
The  English  suddenly  ceased  their  fire, 

And  Van  Dam  hailed  :  "  Have  you  struck  so  soon  ? 
Is  the  score  then  settled,  may  I  inquire  ?  " 

And  the  answer  came  :    "  No  ;  we  have  not  struck, 
But  our  powder  is  spent ;  we  can  fight  no  more." 

"  Ah,  that  is  a  matter  of  evil  luck, 

In  a  case  like  this,"  said  the  Commodore. 

Then  he  stroked  his  beard  and  he  closed  his  eyes  : 
"  'T  were  a  pity  to  mar  so  sweet  a  fight, 

On  a  beggarly  question  of  supplies. 
Diable  !  it  spoils  one's  pleasure  quite." 

With  the  thrifty  blood  of  his  Holland  sire 

A  stream  of  a  warmer  fluid  ran, 
From  a  Norman  mother  with  heart  of  fire  — 

And  the  mother  it  is  that  makes  the  man. 

"To  win  or  to  lose,"  said  the  blood  of  France, 
"  Were  a  problem  simple  as  life  or  death  ; 

But  to  win  by  an  enemy's  dull  mischance  !  "  — 
He  damned  the  lubbers  below  his  breath. 

Then  :  "  Send  me  your  boat  aboard,"  he  cried, 
"  If  you  will  not  strike  and  you  cannot  fight. 


26  A   BUSINESS   TRANSACTION 

Pity  your  stubborn  bulldog  pride 

Should  bark  so  loud,  with  so  small  a  bite  ! 

The  Admiral  came  in  his  gig  of  state  ; 
ptain  by  right  of  heritage, 

Favor  had  made  him  all  but  great, 
And  Nature  had  never  marred  the  page. 

Dutchman  all  was  the  Commodore 

At  once  when  he  saw  his  wondrous  guest, 

Marveling  much  and  marveling  more 
As  he  listed  the  visitor's  request. 


Never  was  such  proposal  made 
To  sailor  before,  on  land  or  sea  : 

"  Twas  awkward  to  dabble  in  vulgar  trade  ; 
But  have  you  some  powder  to  sell  to  me  ? ' 


Dutch  diplomacy  struggled  hard, 

But  Gallic  chivalry  won  the  day. 
The  sale  was  made  and  the  bill  was  paid, 

And  the  guns  went  back  to  their  pleasant  play 

111  had  it  gone  with  the  Commodore, 

I  lad  pluck  or  fortune  deceived  him  then  ; 

Bui  1)'-  fought  as  lie  never  fought  before, 
And  he  brought  his  investment  back  again. 


A   BUSINESS   TRANSACTION  2J 

The  great  States-General,  solemn  folk, 
When  old  Van  Dam  came  home  next  day, 

With  his  prizes  in  tow,  forgave  the  joke, 
Or  never  perceived  it  —  who  can  say  ? 


SUMMER    IS    PAST 

Half  the  race  of  life  is  over,  and  the  breeze  is  well 
abaft. 
Do  we  lead  or  do  we  follow  ?  —  naught  it  matters 
to  us  now. 
All  the  joy  was  in  the  battle  of  the  windward-run- 
ning craft, 
In  the  squall  against  the  topsail,  in  the  wave  be- 
fore the  prow. 

Oh,  the  consorts  who  were  with  us  in  the  opening 
of  the  race ! 
Ah,  the  daring  shallops  foundered  as  we  sailed 
into  the  wind  ! 
Oh,  the  sweet  and  foolish  passions  when  the  sun 
•was  in  our  face, 
And   we  left  the   laggard    Prudence    league  on 
league  away  behind  ! 

Then  a  friend  was  had  for  loving,  and  we  loved 
without  a  thought  ; 
We   saw  OUT  hearts  were   naked,  and  we   shamed 
not  of  the  truth. 

28 


SUMMER  IS  PAST  29 

But  the  sober  fruit  of  knowledge  aye  in  bitterness 
is  bought, 
And  the  flaming  sword  forever  bars  the  Eden 
gate  of  youth. 


JACK    CREAMER 

A    TRUE    STORY    OF    l8l2 

The  boarding  nettings  are  triced  for  fight ; 

Pike  and  cutlass  are  shining  bright ; 

The  boatswain's  whistle  pipes  loud  and  shrill  ; 

Gunner  and  topman  work  with  a  will ; 

Rough  old  sailor  and  reefer  trim 

Jest  as  they  stand  by  the  cannon  grim  ; 

There  's  a  fighting  glint  in  Decatur's  eye, 

And  brave  Old  Glory  floats  out  on  high. 

But  many  a  heart  beats  fast  below 
The  laughing  lips  as  they  near  the  foe ; 
For  the  pluckiest  knows,  though  no  man  quails. 
That  the  breath  of  death  is  filling  the  sails. 
Only  one  little  face  is  wan  ; 
Only  one  childish  mouth  is  drawn  ; 
One  little  heart  is  sad  and  sore 
To  the  watchful  eye  of  the  Commodore. 
Little  Jack  Creamer,  ten  years  old, 
In  DO  purser's  book  or  watch  enrolled, 
30 


JACK  CREAMER  31 

Must  mope  or  skulk  while  his  shipmates  fight,  — 
No  wonder  his  little  face  is  white  ! 

"  Why,  Jack,  old  man,  so  blue  and  sad  ? 
Afraid  of  the  music  ?  "     The  face  of  the  lad 
With  mingled  shame  and  anger  burns. 
Quick  to  the  Commodore  he  turns  : 
"  I  'm  not  a  coward,  but  I  think  if  you  — 
Excuse  me,  Capt'n,  I  mean  if  you  knew 
(I  s'pose  it 's  because  I  'm  young  and  small) 
I  'm  not  on  the  books  !     I'mno  one  at  all ! 
And  as  soon  as  this  fighting  work  is  done 
And  we  get  our  prize-money,  every  one 
Has  his  share  of  the  plunder  —  /get  none." 

"  And  you  're  sure  we  shall  take  her  ?  "     "  Sure  ? 

Why,  sir, 
She  's  only  a  blessed  Britisher ! 
We  '11  take  her  easy  enough,  I  bet ; 
But  glory  's  all  that  I  'm  going  to  get ! " 

"  Glory  !     I  doubt  if  I  get  more, 
If  I  get  so  much,"  said  the  Commodore; 
"  But  faith  goes  far  in  the  race  for  fame, 
And  down  on  the  books  shall  go  your  name." 

Bravely  the  little  seaman  stood 

To  his  post  while  the  scuppers  ran  with  blood, 


32  JACK  CREAMER 

While  grizzled  veterans  looked  and  smiled 
And  gathered  new  courage  from  the  child ; 
Till  the  enemy,  crippled  in  pride  and  might, 
Struck  his  crimson  flag  and  gave  up  the  fight. 
Then  little  Jack  Creamer  stood  once  more 
Face  to  face  with  the  Commodore. 

11  You  have  got  your  glory,"  he  said,  u  my  lad, 

And  money  to  make  your  sweetheart  glad. 

Now,  who  may  she  be  ?  "     "  My  mother,  sir  ; 

I  want  you  to  send  the  half  to  her.'' 

"  And  the  rest  ?  "     Jack  blushed  and  hung  his  head  ; 

"  I  '11  buy  some  schoolin'  with  that,"  he  said. 

Decatur  laughed  ;  then  in  graver  mood  : 
"  The  first  is  the  better,  but  both  are  good. 
Your  mother  shall  never  know  want  while  I 
1  lave  a  ship  to  sail,  or  a  flag  to  fly  ; 
And  schooling  you  '11  have  till  all  is  blue, 
But  little  the  lubbers  can  teach  to  you." 

JlftJs/iifwim  ('reamer's  story  is  told  — 
They  did  such  things  in  the  days  of  old. 
When  faith  and  courage  won  sure  reward. 
And  the  quarter-deck  was  not  triply  barred, 
To  the  forecastle  hero  ;  for  men  were  men, 

And  the  Nation  was  close  to  its  Maker  then. 


THE  FLAG 

AN    INCIDENT    OF    STRAIN'S    EXPEDITION 

I  never  have  got  the  bearings  quite, 

Though    I  've   followed  the  course   for  many  a 
year, 
If  he  was  crazy,  clean  outright, 

Or  only  what  you  might  say  was  "  queer." 

He  was  just  a  simple  sailor  man. 

I  mind  it  as  well  as  yisterday, 
When  we  messed  aboard  of  the  old  Cyane. 

Lord  !  how  the  time  does  slip  away  ! 
That  was  five  and  thirty  year  ago, 

And  I  never  expect  such  times  again, 
For  sailors  was  n't  afraid  to  stow 

Themselves  on  a  Yankee  vessel  then. 
He  was  only  a  sort  of  bosun's  mate, 

But  every  inch  of  him  taut  and  trim ; 
Stars  and  anchors  and  togs  of  state 

Tailors  don't  build  for  the  like  of  him. 
He  flew  a  no-account  sort  of  name, 
33 


34  THE  FLAG 

A  reg'lar  fo'cas'le  "Jim  "  or  "  Jack," 
With  a  plain  "  McGinnis  "  abaft  the  same, 

Giner'ly  reefed  to  simple  "Mack." 
Mack,  we  allowed,  was  sorter  queer,  — 

Ballast  or  compass  was  n't  right. 
Till  he  licked  four  Juicers  one  day,  a  fear 

Prevailed  that  he  had  n't  larned  to  fight. 
But  I  reckon  the  Captain  knowed  his  man, 

When  he  put  the  flag  in  his  hand  the  day 
That  we  went  ashore  from  the  old  Cyane, 

On  a  madman's  cruise  for  Darien  Bay. 

Forty  days  in  the  wilderness 

We  toiled  and  suffered  and  starved  with  Strain, 
Losing  the  number  of  many  a  mess 

In  the  Devil's  swamps  of  the  Spanish  Main. 
All  of  us  starved,  and  many  died. 

One  laid  down,  in  his  dull  despair  j 
His  stronger  messmate  went  to  his  side  — 

Wo  left  them  both  in  the  jungle  there. 
It  was  hard  to  part  with  shipmates  so; 

But  standing  by  would  have  done  no  good. 
We  heard  them  moaning  all  day,  so  slow 

We  dragged  along  through  the  weary  wood. 
McGinnis,  he  suffered  the  worst  of  all  ; 

Not  that  he  ever  piped  his  eye 
( )r  would  n't  have  answered  to  the  call 


THE  FLAG  35 

If  they  'd  sounded  it  for  "  All  hands  to  die." 

I  guess  't  would  have  sounded  for  him  before, 

But  the  grit  inside  of  him  kept  him  strong, 
Till  we  met  relief  on  the  river  shore  ; 

And  we  all  broke  down  when  it  came  along. 

All  but  McGinnis.     Gaunt  and  tall, 
Touching  his  hat,  and  standing  square  : 

II  Captain,  the  Flag."  .    .    .    And  that  was  all ; 

He  just  keeled  over  and  foundered  there. 
"  The  Flag  ? "     We  thought  he  had  lost  his  head  — 

It  might  n't  be  much  to  lose  at  best  — 
Till  we  came,  by  and  by,  to  dig  his  bed, 

And  we  found  it  folded  around  his  breast. 
He  laid  so  calm  and  smiling  there, 

With  the  flag  wrapped  tight  about  his  heart ; 
Maybe  he  saw  his  course  all  fair, 

Only  —  we  could  n't  read  the  chart. 


SIR   HUGO'S   CHOICE 

It  is  better  to  die,  since  death  comes  surely, 
In  the  full  noontide  of  an  honored  name, 

Than  to  lie  at  the  end  of  years  obscurely, 
A  handful  of  dust  in  a  shroud  of  shame. 

Sir  Hugo  lived  in  the  ages  golden, 

Warder  of  Aisne  and  Picardy ; 
He  lived  and  died,  and  his  deeds  are  told  in 

The  Book  immortal  of  Chivalrie  : 

How  he  won  the  love  of  a  prince's  daughter  — 
A  poor  knight  he  with  a  stainless  sword  — 

Whereat  Count  Rolf,  who  had  vainly  sought  her. 
Swore  death  should  sit  at  the  bridal  board. 

"  A  braggart's    threat,   for   a    brave    man's    scorn- 
ing !  "' 
And  Hugo  laughed  at  his  rival's  ire, 
But  couriers  twain,  on  the  bridal  morning, 

To  his  castle  gate  came  with  tidings  dire. 


SIR  HUGO'S   CHOICE  37 

The  first  a-faint  and  with  armor  riven  : 
u  In  peril  sore  have  I  left  thy  bride, — 

False  Rolf  waylaid  us.     For  love  and  Heaven  ! 
Sir  Hugo,  quick  to  the  rescue  ride  !  " 

Stout  Hugo  muttered  a  word  unholy  ; 

He  sprang  to  horse  and  he  flashed  his  brand, 
But  a  hand  was  laid  on  his  bridle  slowly, 

And  a  herald  spoke  :  "  By  the  king's  command 

"This  to  Picardy's  trusty  warder :  — 
France  calls  first  for  his  loyal  sword, 

The  Flemish  spears  are  across  the  border, 
And  all  is  lost  if  they  win  the  ford." 

Sir  Hugo  paused,  and  his  face  was  ashen, 
His  white  lips  trembled  in  silent  prayer  — 

God's  pity  soften  the  spirit's  passion 
When  the  crucifixion  of  Love  is  there ! 

What  need  to  tell  of  the  message  spoken  ? 

Of  the  hand  that  shook  as  he  poised  his  lance  ? 
And  the  look  that  told  of  his  brave  heart  broken, 

As  he  bade  them  follow,  "  For  God  and  France  !  " 

On  Cambray's  field  next  morn  they  found  him, 
'Mid  a  mighty  swath  of  foemen  dead ; 


38  SIR   IIC GO'S   CHOICE 

Her  snow-white  scarf  he  had  bound  around  him 
With  his  loyal  blood  was  baptized  red. 

It  is  all  writ  clown  in  the  book  of  glory, 
On  crimson  pages  of  blood  and  strife, 

With  scanty  thought  for  the  simple  story 
Of  duty  clearer  than  love  or  life. 

Only  a  note  obscure,  appended 

By  warrior  scribe  or  monk  perchance, 

Saith  :  "  The  good  knight's  ladye  was  sore  offended 
That  he  would  not  die  for  her  but  France." 

Did  the  ladye  live  to  lament  her  lover  ? 

Or  did  roystering  Rolf  prove  a  better  mate  ? 
I  have  searched  the  records  over  and  over, 

But  naught  discover  to  tell  her  fate. 

And  I  read  the  moral  —  A  brave  endeavor 

To  do  thy  duty,  whate'er  its  worth, 
Is  better  than  life  with  love  forever  — 

And  love  is  the  sweetest  thing  on  earth. 


GETTYSBURG 

There  was  no  union  in  the  land, 
Though  wise  men  labored  long 

With  links  of  clay  and  ropes  of  sand 
To  bind  the  right  and  wrong. 

There  was  no  temper  in  the  blade 
That  once  could  cleave  a  chain  ; 

Its  edge  was  dull  with  touch  of  trade 
And  clogged  with  rust  of  gain. 

The  sand  and  clay  must  shrink  away 

Before  the  lava  tide  : 
By  blows  and  blood  and  fire  assay 

The  metal  must  be  tried. 

Here  sledge  and  anvil  met,  and  when 
The  furnace  fiercest  roared, 

God's  undiscerning  workingmen 
Reforged  His  people's  sword. 
39 


40  GETTYSBURG 

Enough  for  them  to  ask  and  know 
The  moment's  duty  clear  — 

The  bayonets  flashed  it  there  below, 
The  guns  proclaimed  it  here  : 

To  do  and  dare,  and  die  at  need, 
But  while  life  lasts,  to  fight  — 
For  right  or  wrong  a  simple  creed, 
But  simplest  for  the  right. 

They  faltered  not  who  stood  that  day 
And  held  this  post  of  dread ; 

Nor  cowards  they  who  wore  the  gray 
Until  the  gray  was  red. 

For  every  wreath  the  victor  wears 
The  vanquished  half  may  claim  ; 

And  every  monument  declares 
A  common  pride  and  fame. 

We  raise  no  altar  stones  to  Hate, 
Who  never  bowed  to  Fear : 

No  province  crouches  at  our  gate, 
To  shame  our  triumph  here. 

Here  Standing  by  a  dead  wrong's  grave 
The  blindest  now  may  see, 


GETTYSBURG  4 1 

The  blow  that  liberates  the  slave 
But  sets  the  master  free ! 

When  ills  beset  the  nation's  life 

Too  dangerous  to  bear, 
The  sword  must  be  the  surgeon's  knife, 

Too  merciful  to  spare. 

O  Soldier  of  our  common  land, 

'T  is  thine  to  bear  that  blade 
Loose  in  the  sheath,  or  firm  in  hand, 

But  ever  unafraid. 

When  foreign  foes  assail  our  right, 

One  nation  trusts  to  thee  — 
To  wield  it  well  in  worthy  fight  — 

The  sword  of  Meade  and  Lee  ! 


THE   MEN  OF   THE   ALAMO 

To  Houston  at  Gonzales  town,  ride,  Ranger,  for 

your  life, 
Nor  stop  to  say  good-by  to-day  to  home,  or  child, 

or  wife ; 
But  pass  the  word  from  ranch  to  ranch,  to  every 

Texan  sword, 
That   fifty   hundred    Mexicans    have    crossed    the 

Nueces  ford, 
With    Castrillon    and    perjured    Cos,    Sesma     and 

Almonte, 
And  Santa  Anna  ravenous  for  vengeance  and  for 

prey  ! 
They   smite    the    land    with  fire    and   sword ;    the 

grass  shall  never  grow 
Where  northward  sweeps  that  locust  horde  on  San 

Antonio  ! 

Now  who  will   bar   the   foeman's    path,  to  gain    a 

breathing  space, 
Till  Houston  and  his  scattered  men  shall  meet  him 

Lwc  to  face  ? 


THE  MEN  OF  THE   ALAMO  43 

Who  holds  his  life  as  less  than  naught  when  home 

and  honor  call, 
And  counts  the  guerdon  full  and  fair  for  liberty  to 

fall? 
Oh,  who  but  Barrett  Travis,  the  bravest  of  them 

alii 
With  seven  score  of  riflemen  to  play  the  rancher's 

game, 
And  feed  a  counter-fire  to  halt  the  sweeping  prairie 

flame  ; 
For  Bowie  of  the  broken  blade  is  there  to  cheer 

them  on, 
With  Evans  of  Concepcion,  who  conquered  Castril- 

lon, 
And  o'er  their  heads   the  Lone  Star  flag  defiant 

floats  on  high, 
And  no  man  thinks  of  yielding,  and  no  man  fears 

to  die. 

But  ere  the  siege  is  held  a  week  a  cry  is  heard 

without, 
A  clash  of  arms,  a  rifle  peal,  the  Ranger's  ringing 

shout, 
And    two-and-thirty  beardless   boys  have  bravely 

hewed  their  way 
To  die  with  Travis  if  they  must,  to  conquer  if  they 

may. 


44  THE  MEN  OE   THE   ALAMO 

Was  ever  bravery  so  cheap  in  Glory's  mart  before 
In  all  the  days  of  chivalry,  in  all  the  deeds  of  war  ? 

But  once  again  the  foemen  gaze  in  wonderment  and 

fear 
To  see  a  stranger  break  their  lines  and  hear  the 

Texans  cheer. 
God  !  how  they  cheered    to   welcome    him,   those 

spent  and  starving  men  ! 
For  Davy   Crockett  by   their   side   was  worth    an 

army  then. 
The  wounded  ones  forgot  their  wounds  ;   the  dying 

drew  a  breath 
To  hail  the  king  of  border  men,  then    turned  to 

laugh  at  death. 
For  all  knew  Davy  Crockett,  blithe  and  generous 

as  bold, 
And  strong  and  rugged  as  the  quartz  that  hides  its 

heart  of  gold. 
His  simple  creed  for  word  or  deed  true  as  the  bul- 
let sped, 
And   rung  the   target   straight  :  "  Be   sure   you  're 

right,  then  go  ahead  !  " 

And  were  they  right  who  fought  the  fight  for  Texas 
by  his  side  ? 

They  questioned  not  ;  they  faltered  not  ;  they  only 
fought  and  died. 


THE  MEN  OF   THE   ALAMO  45 

Who  hath  an  enemy  like  these,  God's  mercy  slay 
him  straight !  — 

A  thousand  Mexicans  lay  dead  outside  the  convent 
gate, 

And  half  a  thousand  more  must  die  before  the  for- 
tress falls, 

And  still  the  tide  of  war  beats  high  around  the 
leaguered  walls. 

At  last  the  bloody  breach  is  won  ;  the  weakened 

lines  give  way ; 
The  wolves  are  swarming  in  the  court ;  the  lions 

stand  at  bay. 
The  leader  meets  them  at  the  breach,  and  wins  the 

soldier's  prize ; 
A  foeman's  bosom  sheathes  his  sword  when  gallant 

Travis  dies. 
Now  let  the  victor  feast  at  will  until  his  crest  be 

red  — 
We  may  not  know  what  raptures  fill  the  vulture 

with  the  dead. 
Let  Santa  Anna's  valiant  sword  right  bravely  hew 

and  hack 
The  senseless  corse ;  its  hands  are  cold  ;  they  will 

not  strike  him  back. 
Let  Bowie  die,  but  'ware  the  hand  that  wields  his 

deadly  knife  ; 


46  THE  MEN  OF   THE   ALAMO 

Four  went  to  slay,  and  one  comes  back,  so  dear  he 

sells  his  life. 
And  last  of  all  let  Crockett  fall,  too  proud  to  sue      * 

for  grace, 
So  grand  in  death  the  butcher  dared  not  look  upon 

his  face. 

But  far  on  San  Jacinto's  field  the  Texan  toils  are 

set, 
And  Alamo's  dread  memory  the  Texan  steel  shall 

whet. 
And  Fame  shall  tell  their  deeds  who  fell  till  all  the 

years  be  run. 
"Thermopylae    left    one    alive  —  the    Alamo   left 

none." 


JOHN   BOYLE   O'REILLY 

August  10,  i8qo 

Have  thy  people  climbed  to  Nebo  ? 

Is  the  Promised  Land  in  sight, 
And  the  pleasant  fields  of  Canaan 

Radiant  in  the  morning  light  ? 

Strike  the  harp,  and  sound  the  timbrel, 
For  the  weary  night  is  past, 

For  their  wanderings  are  over, 
And  the  day  hath  come  at  last. 

Lift  on  high  the  little  children  ; 

Lead  the  elders  forth  to  see  ; 
Let  the  maidens  sing  in  gladness 

Of  the  joy  that  is  to  be. 

Now  for  them  the  bulwarks  totter, 
Now  for  them  the  Jordan  dries,  — 

But  our  Chief  is  dead  on  Phasga ; 
In  the  stranger  land  he  lies. 

47 


48  JOHN  BOYLE   O'REILLY 

Wonder  not  if  we  be  silent ; 

Chide  not  if  our  eyes  be  dim  ; 
We  are  mourning  for  our  Prophet  — 

Israel  hath  no  more  like  him  ! 


THE   LAST   OF   THE   DRUIDS 

Conal,  last  of  the  Druids,  stood   by  the  ruined 

shrine, 
And  the  ashes  were  cold  on  the  altar  and  bitter  and 

gray  as  brine  ; 
The  sacred  grove  was  deserted,  and  impious  hands 

had  raised 
The  mystic  sign  of  the  stranger  where  the  holy  fires 

had  blazed. 
He  went  to  the  home  of  his  father,  and  a  stranger 

bade  him  in 
Who  knew  not  the  face  of  Conal  nor  came  of  his 

father's  kin. 

For  the  years  were  many  and  changeful  since  the 

Druid  went  afar 
From  the  peaceful  land  of  Ierne  to  the  stormy  fields 

of  war. 
He  had  battled  with  Pict  and  Briton,  Norseman 

and  Hun  and  Gaul, 
When  Dathi's  glorious  banner  waved  on  the  Alpine 

wall. 

49 


5<D  THE  LAST  OF   THE  DRUIDS 

And   now  he  was  old,  and  weary  of  the   splendid 

joy  of  strife, 
And  he  longed  for  the  Druid  cloister  and  the  even- 


ing calm  of  life 


"  The  gods  of  the  brave  will  bless  me  for  the  foes 

I  have  slain,''  he  said, 
And  he  turned  to  the  land  of    Ierne  —  and  they 

told  him  the  gods  were  dead  ! 

Then  he  cursed  the  gods  of  his  fathers,  the  many 

who  fled  from  one, 
And  he  cursed  the  priest  of  the  stranger  for  the 

thing  that  he  had  done. 
"  I  will  find  this  priest,  I  will  slay  him,  —  let  him 

bide  on  land  or  sea, 
Though  a  thousand  swords  defend  him  —  and  the 

gods  shall  be  shamed  by  me  !  " 

He  went  to  the  Court  of  Tara  where  the  king  had 

housed  the  priest ; 
He  found  him  not  at  the  palace,  he  found  him  not 

at  the  feast; 
But  down  in  a  lowly  hovel,  where  a  man  with  the 

Black  Death  lav, 
They  told  him,  "The  good  priest.  Patrick,  watches 

by  Dight  and  day  ; 
For  the  man  he  serves  was  his   foenian  in  the  days 

of  his  power  and  pride, 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  DRUIDS  5  I 

But  the  pride  and  the  power  have  left  him,  and  the 

love  of  his  friends  has  died ; 
Kith   or   kin    has  he  none  —  only  one    son,  gone 

wild  — 
And  the  Black  Death's  hand,  Christ  save  us  !  would 

part  the  mother  and  child. 
The  boldest  soldier  in  Erin,  I  warrant  ye,  would 

not  dare 
To  watch  with  old  Conn  the  Druid,  in  the  deadly 

pest-house  there." 

Never  a  word  said  Conal,  but  his  face  was  set  and 

gray, 
As  he  strode  to  the  lonely  cabin  where  the  dying 

Druid  lay, 
He  knelt  by  the  humble  pallet,   and  the  air  was 

thick  with  death, 
But  the  lips  of  the  stricken  father  smiled  with  his 

dying  breath, 
And  his  feeble  hand  was  lifted  to  bless  with  the 

Christian's  sign 
The  wayward  son  of  his  bosom  —  the  last  of  the 

Druid  line. 

Then  the  sinful  wrath  of  Conal  passed  like  a  mist 

away, 
And  he  kissed  the  hem  of  the  garment  of  the  man 

he  had  sworn  to  slay. 


WASHINGTON 

God  wills  no  man  a  slave.     The  man  most  meek, 
Who  saw  Him  face  to  face  on  Horeb's  peak, 
Had  slain  a  tyrant  for  a  bondman's  wrong, 
And  met  his  Lord  with  sinless  soul  and  strong. 
Uut  when,  years  after,  overfraught  with  care, 
His  feet  once  trod  doubt's  pathway  to  despair, 
For  that  one  treason  lapse,  the  guiding  hand 
That  led  so  far  now  barred  the  promised  land. 
God  makes  no  man  a  slave,  no  doubter  free ; 
Abiding  faith  alone  wins  liberty. 

No  angel  led  our  Chieftain's  steps  aright ; 
No  pilot  cloud  by  day,  no  flame  by  night ; 
No  plague  nor  portent  spake  to  foe  or  friend ; 
No  doubt  assailed  him,  faithful  to  the  end. 

Weaklings  there  were,  as  in  the  tribes  of  old, 
Who  craved   for  fleshpots,   worshiped    calves   of 

gold. 
Murmured  that  right  should  harder  be  than  wrong, 
And  freedom's  narrow  road  so  steep  and  long  ; 
5^ 


WASHINGTON  53 

But  he  who  ne'er  on  Sinai's  summit  trod, 

Still  walked  the  highest  heights  and   spake  with 

God; 
Saw  with  anointed  eyes  no  promised  land 
By  petty  bounds  or  pettier  cycles  spanned, 
Its  people  curbed  and  broken  to  the  ring, 
Packed  with  a  caste  and  saddled  with  a  king  — 
But  freedom's  heritage  and  training  school, 
Where  man  unruled  should  learn  to  wisely  rule, 
Till  sun  and  moon  should  see  at  Ajalon 
Kings'  heads  in  dust  and  freemen's  feet  thereon. 

His  work  well  done,  the  leader  stepped  aside, 
Spurning  a  crown  with  more  than  kingly  pride, 
Content  to  wear  the  higher  crown  of  worth, 
While  time  endures,  First  Citizen  of  earth. 


THE   LAY   BROTHER'S    STORY 

(MONASTERY    OF    LA    TRAPPE —  1S56) 

That  is  his  grave,  and  this  is  mine  — 

The  Father  was  good  to  me  so  old, 

Though  I  spake  no  word  and  I  made  no  sign, 

Nor  ever  nourished  a  hope  so  bold 

As  to  dream  that  my  dust  by  his  might  lie. 

Who  was  saint  on  earth  and  is  saint  on  high. 

Forty  years  together  we  wrought, 

And  not  one  look  from  him  to  tell 

That  his  mind  went  back  for  a  fleeting  thought 

To  the  life  we  both  had  known  so  well. 

For  he  had  been  here  two  years  before 

I  left  the  world  and  curbed  my  tongue, 

And  I  knew  him  well  in  the  clays  of  yore 

When  1  was  not  old  and  he  was  young. 

Never  a  sign  through  all  the  years 
Till  yesterday  when  his  summons  came, 
And  I  saw  him  smile  through  a  veil  of  tears, 
And  he  took  my  hand  and  he  called  my  name: 
54 


THE  LAY  BROTHER'S  STORY  55 

(For  one  hour  of  life,  ere  it  fades  away, 

To  the  dying  Trappist  is  kindly  given, 

That  his  soul  may  see,  when  its  sins  are  shriven, 

How  as  death  to  life,  and  as  night  to  day, 

Are  the  joys  of  earth  to  the  Joy  of  Heaven  !) 

Then  the  Angel  of  Memory  rolled  the  stone 

Back  from  the  sepulchre  of  years, 

Till  the  forty  winters  of  monotone 

And  the  forty  summers  our  cells  had  known 

Were  gone,  and  we  two  were  grenadiers  — 

Grenadiers  of  the  Grande  Armee, 

Side  by  side  on  that  woful  day 

At  Kowno  Bridge  with  the  godlike  Ney, 

Facing  ten  thousand  Cossack  spears. 

I  saw  him  fall  as  they  pressed  us  back, 

Inch  by  inch,  to  the  further  shore  ; 

Then  a  mist  of  blood  hid  the  battle  wrack, 

And  I  prayed  to  awaken  nevermore. 

But  God's  great  mercy  denied  the  boon 

And  gave  me  life  and  some  deeds  to  do, 

Till  the  end  that  came  so  sore  and  soon 

In  shame  and  sorrow  and  Waterloo. 

Small  loss  was  it  then  to  leave  the  earth 

That  held  no  longer  or  hope  or  dread  ; 

But  great  the  reward  beyond  my  worth, 

For  I  found  him  here  I  had  mourned  for  dead. 


56  THE  LAY  BROTHER'S  STORY 

I  marveled  oft  if  he  never  thought 
Of  France  and  glory  and  dreams  so  dear 
To  our  dear  dead  youth  —  ah  !  I  forgot 
The  saint  had  been  man  — and  a  grenadier  ! 

He  held  my  hand,  and  the  long  desire 

Spake  through  his  eyes  and  the  glaze  of  death  ; 

Something  was,  too,  of  the  old-time  fire 

Men  feel  when  they  taste  the  battle-breath. 

And  something  more  of  the  love  so  strong 

No  years  could  weaken,  no  reason  chill, 

For  the  Chief  we  followed  through  right  or  wrong, 

As  the  planets  swing  to  the  great  Sun's  will. 

God  will  not  love  him  less,  I  know. 

For  the  love  that  gnawed  at  his  silent  breast 

Through  years  of  speechless  doubt  and  woe, 

For  Himself  hath  said  that  love  is  best, 

And  all  that  he  asked  I  freely  told, 

And  would  tell  again  though  I  died  therefor  — 

"Tell  me,"  he  said,  "my  comrade  old, 

Tell  me  about  my  Emperor !  " 


WHITTIER 

A  law  well  kept  in  Otaheite  saith  : 
"  Speak  not  the  Monarch's  name  on  pain  of  death  !  " 

High  on  his  throne  majestic  Wrong 
Triumphant  sate,  and  all  in  awe 

Paid  homage  due  —  amid  the  throng 
Was  none  so  supple-kneed  as  Law. 

The  patriot  at  the  shrine  of  Self 
With  hardly  more  devotion  bowed, 

The  trader  eager-eyed  for  pelf, 
The  pulpit  politician  loud, 

And  all  the  mob  of  caste  and  class, 
Before  the  throne  with  tribute  drew 

And  groveled  low,  as  loth  to  pass ; 
But  no  man  spake  the  name  taboo, 

Till  Freedom's  poet  came  and  sung, 
And  slaves  of  Slavery  in  shame 

No  longer  held  the  servile  tongue  — 
For  all  men  spake  the  tyrant's  name. 
57 


WOBURN 

Need  we  tell  the  stirring  story  of  the  builders  of 

the  Town 
Where  the  record  of  their  glory  every  stone  hath 

written  down  ? 

Do  we  look  beyond  the  ripeness,  to  the  sapling  or 

the  root  ? 
Nay,  we  know  the  tree  is  healthy  —  we  have  tasted 

of  the  fruit. 

Fair  and  stately  is  the  city,  from  the  lowly  hamlet 
grown  ; 

But  its  strength  is  ruled  and  measured  by  the  hid- 
den corner-stone. 

Not  in  darkness,  but  in  wisdom,  wrought  the  pre- 
scient pioneers, 

Hewing  pathways,  building  bridges,  for  the  march- 
ing of  the  years. 


WO  BURN  59 

For  the  glorious  procession  that  their  eyes   might 

never  see 
Of  the  serried  ages  moving  to  the  light  of  Liberty  ; 

Moving  slowly,  footsore,  weary,  for  the  road  is  dark 

and  long, 
Every  passage  barred  by  Power,  every  hilltop  held 

by  Wrong  ; 

Till  the  dawn  of  Freedom  breaketh,  with  the  prom- 
ised land  in  view, 

Where  the  simple  many  toil  not  for  the  strong  and 
cunning  few, 

Where  the  worker  knows  no  master,  and  the  thinker 

takes  no  heed 
Of  the  morrow  lest  he  perish  in  the  selfish  game  of 

greed. 

Naught  the  Fathers  recked  of   hardships,  naught 

of  triumphs  sorely  won  ; 
They  but  saw  the  day's  endeavor  and  the  duty  to 

be  done. 

For  they  said :  "  The  sum  we  know  not,  but  God 

keeps  the  score  in  sight  \ 
Every  cipher  makes  it  tenfold,  if  you  place  it  to  the 

right." 


60  WO  BURN 

Who  hath  faith  may  move  a  mountain.     Aye,  for 

faith  shall  move  the  man, 
And  the  strong  arm  of  the  righteous  carry  out  the 

heavenly  plan. 

So  in  sacrifice  and  travail,  as  a  coral  island  grows, 
With  the  builders  for  its  ramparts,   line  by  line  the 
structure  rose. 

Not  on  perishable  columns  be  their  faithful  names 

enrolled  ; 
Not  in  fleeting  song  or  story  be  their  valiant  actions 

told. 

But  by  sons  who  stand  for  honor,  in  the  council,  on 

the  field  ; 
By  unspotted   civic   virtue,    Freedom's  sword   and 

spear  and  shield  j 

By  the  simple  faith  and  courage  left  in  heritage  and 

trust,  — 
Shall  the  City  hold  its  charter,  when  the  parchment 

turns  to  dust  ! 


NATURE  THE  FALSE  GODDESS 

The  vilest  work  of  vilest  man, 

The  cup  that  drugs,  the  sword  that  slays, 
The  purchased  kiss  of  courtesan, 

The  lying  tongue  of  blame  or  praise, 

The  cobra's  fang,  the  tiger's  spring, 
The  python's  murderous  embrace  — 

The  wrath  of  any  living  thing  — 
A  man  may  fear  but  bravely  face. 

But  thou,  cold  Mother,  knowest  naught 
Of  love,  or  hate,  or  joy,  or  woe  ; 

Thy  bounties  come  to  man  unsought, 
Thy  curses  fall  on  friend  and  foe. 

Thou  bearest  balm  upon  thy  breath, 

Or  sowest  poison  in  the  air ; 
And  if  man  reapeth  life  or  death, 

Thou  dost  not  know,  thou  dost  not  care. 
61 


62  NATURE    THE   FALSE    GODDESS 

Thou  art  God's  instrument  of  fate, 
Obedient,  mighty,  soulless,  blind, 

No  demon  to  propitiate, 
No  deity  in  love  enshrined. 

Let  him  who  turns  from  God  away 
To  Bel  or  Moloch  bend  the  knee, 

Defile  his  soul  to  wood  or  clay, 
Or  thrill  with  Voudoo's  ecstasy, 

Seek  any  fetich  undivine, 

Be  any  superstition's  thrall  — 

From  Heaven  or  Hell  will  come  a  sign, 
But  thou  alone  art  deaf  to  all. 


RECANTATION 

It  is  not  wisdom  to  be  over-wise  : 

At  twenty,  one  knows  all ;  at  thirty,  less ; 

Happy  if  even  then  his  blindness  he  may  guess, 

Ere  forty  open  his  conceited  eyes 

To  their  own  blankness,  with  severe  surprise,  — 

Thrice  happy  if  his  folly  he  confess, 

Who  thought  to  find  his  perfect  happiness 

In  tepid  Friendship's  unpoetic  guise. 

A  timid  sailor  of  the  temperate  zone, 
I  said  :  "  Joy  dwells  not  North,  nor  East,  nor  West, 
Nor  anywhere  save  in  the  sea-ways  known 
Where  consort  souls  find  harmony  and  rest "  — 
Till  sudden  Southward  was  my  shallop  blown, 
And  then,  at  last,  I  knew  that  Love  was  best. 
63 


A   SAILOR'S   YARN 

This  is  the  tale  that  was  told  to  me 

By  a  battered  and  shattered  son  of  the  sea, 

To  me  and  my  messmate,  Silas  Green, 
When  I  was  a  guileless  young  marine. 


T  was  the  good  ship  Gyascutus, 

All  in  the  China  seas, 
With  the  wind  a- lee  and  the  capstan  free 

To  catch  the  summer  breeze. 

'T  was  Captain  Porgie  on  the  deck, 
To  his  mate  in  the  mizzen  hatch, 

While  the  boatswain  bold,  in  the  forward  hold. 
Was  winding  his  larboard  watch. 

"Oh,  how  does  our  good  ship  head  to-night  ? 

Mow  heads  our  gallant  craft  ?  " 
"  Oh,  she  heads  to  the  E.  S.  W.  by  \., 

And  the  binnacle  lies  abaft  I  " 

"4 


A   SAILOR'S    YARN  65 

"  Oh,  what  does  the  quadrant  indicate, 
And  how  does  the  sextant  stand  ?  " 

"  Oh,  the  sextant 's  down  to  the  freezing  point, 
And  the  quadrant 's  lost  a  hand  !  " 

"  Oh,  and  if  the  quadrant  has  lost  a  hand 
And  the  sextant  falls  so  low, 
It 's  our  bodies  and  bones  to  Davy  Jones 
This  night  are  bound  to  go ! 

"  Oh,  fly  aloft  to  the  garboard  strake  ! 
And  reef  the  spanker  boom  ; 
Bend  a  studding-sail  on  the  martingale, 
To  give  her  weather  room. 

"  O  boatswain,  down  in  the  for'ard  hold, 

What  water  do  you  find  ?  " 
"  Four  foot  and  a  half  by  the  royal  gaff 

And  rather  more  behind  !  " 

"  O  sailors,  collar  your  marline  spikes 
And  each  belaying-pin ; 
Come,  stir  your  stumps  and  spike  the  pumps, 
Or  more  will  be  coming  in  !  " 

They  stirred  their  stumps,  they  spiked  the  pumps, 
They  spliced  the  mizzen  brace  ; 


66  A   SA/LOA"S    YARN 

Aloft  and  alow  they  worked,  but  oh  ! 
The  water  gained  apace. 

They  bored  a  hole  above  the  keel 

To  let  the  water  out  ; 
But,  strange  to  say,  to  their  dismay, 

The  water  in  did  spout. 

Then  up  spoke  the  Cook  of  our  gallant  ship. 
And  he  was  a  lubber  brave  : 
w  I  have  several  wives  in  various  ports, 
And  my  life  1  "d  orter  save." 

Then  up  spoke  the  Captain  of  Marines, 
Who  dearly  loved  his  prog : 
"  It 's  awful  to  die,  and  it 's  worse  to  be  dry, 
And  I  move  we  pipes  to  grog." 

Oh,  then  \  was  the  noble  second  mate 
What  filled  them  all  with  awe  : 

The  second  mate,  as  bad  men  hate, 
And  cruel  skippers  jaw. 

He  took  the  anchor  on  his  back 

And  leaped  into  the  main  ; 
Through  foam  and  spray  he  clove  his  way, 

And  sunk  anil  rose  again  I 


A   SAILOR'S   YARN  *       6? 

Through  foam  and  spray,  a  league  away 

The  anchor  stout  he  bore  ; 
Till,  safe  at  last,  he  made  it  fast 

And  warped  the  ship  ashore  ! 

'T  ain't  much  of  a  job  to  talk  about, 

But  a  ticklish  thing  to  see, 
And  suth'in  to  do,  if  I  say  it,  too, 

For  that  second  mate  was  me ! 


Such  was  the  tale  that  was  told  to  me 
By  that  modest  and  truthful  son  of  the  sea ; 
And  I  envy  the  life  of  a  second  mate, 
Though  captains  curse  him  and  sailors  hate,, 
For  he  ain't  like  some  of  the  swabs  I  Ve  seen, 
As  would  go  and  lie  to  a  poor  marine. 


HOPE 

The  star  you  seem  to  see,  love, 
With  eyes  more  bright  and  clear, 

All  dark  and  dead  may  be,  love, 
This  many  a  hundred  year. 

But  though  its  fires  may  never 

Send  forth  another  ray, 
That  beam  through  space  forever 

Shall  wing  its  shining  way. 

So,  spite  of  saints  and  sages 

And  maxims  manifold, 

Love  lives  through  all  the  ages, 

Though  hope  be  dead  and  cold. 
68 


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